The Irish standard., 1887-09-03

to Cork next day. and took the pledge
from Father Mathew. And from that
day to the hour of bis death he never
tasted a drop of intoxicating drink.
But his constitution was entirely
broken by a long course of intemper-
ance, and he lived only one year after
becoming teetoter. Ills last words to
me were: willie. never be a drunk
ard
what privatlon my mother suffered
for my sake! She took the bit out of
her own mouth to give it to me. Her
great ambition was to make me "a
scnolor,' and I was kept constantly at
school. My father, who was good an
gler, had often sent me with presents
of fish to the Protestant clergyman. A
few months after my fathers death tie
clergyman's wife met me, and inquired
kindly for my mother. She also gave
me a half sovereign, which she desired
me to give mother to buy clothes for
me. And when the clothes were
bought we were both to call upon her.
We did call upon her; and to my poor
mothers dismay, the lady offered to
provide for me if she were allowed to
bring me up as member of the Estab-
lished Church. The lady was very mild
and handsome; and am sorry to think
the half sovereign which made me so
happy was only bribe. But these
things have little or nothing to do with
what wish to tell you. 1 have written
them almost unconsciously.
My health was never very strong,
and carcely ventured to hope that 1
could ever be anything but a burden to
my dear mother. Judge of my rapture
when my kind friend, Father O'Gor.
man, gave me the appointment of teach
er to one of his schools For three
years after I was as peacefully happy
as mortal man could hope to be. The
injustice which I suffered from tile par
ents of some of my pupils was very try
ing. But the love Of the children for
me made me forget it. The love of
children has always been like blessing
from Heaven to me. Latterly have
been sorely prosecuted by an inspector
for the school is under the Board
who appears to take pleasure in wound
ing my feelings in every possible way.
But word Of sympathy from Father
O'Gorman will heal the worst wound
this official can infict upon me almostin-
simultaneously. For awhile used to feel
panied by the sneers Of coarse-natured
fellows, who would refer to my former
poverty in the most offensive manner,
because respected myself and dressed
decently. 1 soon, however, learned to
despise this; particularly as none but
the most vulgar ever attempted to an
noy me in the way have mentioned.
And what need I care? Had I not my
dear mother to welcome me with her
loving smile, every evening, after the
days toll? Had L not the respect and
good will Of many among my humble
neighbors? Yes; and the friendship of
few whom I could look up to without
feeling that was looked down upon.
He for whom write this was the most
valued of these few friends. And here,
in one word let me thank HIM. His
manner towards me was always frank,
always kind, but never patronizing. I
thank him with all lmy heart. He made
me feel that was man.
I have not touched upon the subject
about which 1 sat down to write. I
find have been putting it off, almost
unconsciously.
Rose Mulyany came to my school.
She was accompanied the first day by
her father and mother, who we're sim
pie peasants.
They told me that Rose had lived
with her grandmother high up on the
mountain, and that her education was
almost entirely neglected; and with
tears of entreaty in their eyes, they
begged of me to do my best to make up
for the lost time, by taking all the
pains could to bring her on as they
expressed it. I promised to do my best;
and after warning Rose to be "a good
GIRL and assuring her that the MASTER
would soon make her "a fine scholar
the simple old couple shook me warmly
by the hand, and with many God
bless you and Good luck to you,' took
their leave.
Poor Rose! How she laughed, and
cried, and blushed at her deficiency.
She was diligent, however, and natu-
rally quick, and soon began to make
wonderful progress. Have I said that
Rose was strikingly beautiful? have
seen one face which was, perhaps, more
regularly handsome. 1t was that of
young lady whom you know. But you
will pardon me for saying that there
was soul, an ever changing something
in the face of Rose Mulvany, which, to
my mind, far excelled the still lowell
ness of the face to which 1 have allud-
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